


You Give Me Fever

by quiteanerdling



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dorian as a terrible patient, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic, unsurprisingly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-16 10:27:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8098645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quiteanerdling/pseuds/quiteanerdling
Summary: Crestwood is a shitty place, and Dorian is a shitty patient.





	

**Author's Note:**

> An old fic that I'm reposting at the request of a follower on Tumblr. :)
> 
> I tagged this Hurt/Comfort but I'm not actually sure it counts? Lemme know if you think I should change the tags.

It wasn’t so much that Dorian was a bad patient - it was that he refused to _be_ a patient. They’d been mucking through one of the hellacious storms in Crestwood for nearly a week, and despite the rather ingenious weather proofing and heating runes that Dagna had added to their field tents, everyone was still utterly sodden. Leathers never fully dried out, even carefully laid in a separate tent full of heat glyphs Dorian provided, and the field rations were either soggy or mildewed. Dust had gotten so sick of eating half molded field biscuits that she had made them kill a druffalo. Bull still had fucking bruises over half his ribs, but he had to admit fresh meat, even if half burnt and half raw was better than moldy bread and jerky.

They were all miserable, but Dorian had actually _stopped_ complaining, which was when the Bull realized there was something seriously wrong. He started watching him even more closely than normal. The mage’s movements when casting had become less flamboyant, the least amount of movement necessary, instead of his normal joyful dance. He didn’t talk much, and when he did it sometimes cut off with coughing and swearing in Tevene. When a coughing fit interrupted him in the middle of casting and a bandit would have taken his pretty head off without quick intervention from the Boss, Bull had had enough.

“Alright, Big Guy, that’s more than enough from you.” He grabbed Dorian by the arm and reached out to press the back of one of his hands to Dorian’s forehead. Dorian struggled weakly, making a noise of complaint, but it didn’t deter Bull in the least. The mage was shivering, soaked through and hissing like a wet cat, and he was hotter than one of his fire spells.

“ _Kaffas_ , you brute, stop man hand-” he broke off in another fit of coughing

“I fucking knew it.” Bull ground out, shaking his head. “Boss, the ‘Vint is sick as a dog, we need to get him somewhere dry and warm.”

Dust looked up from the corpse she was searching for any relevant information or valuables, blinking light eyes against the rain. Her white brows drew together as she turned her attention to Dorian, who had given up struggling and was simply leaning against The Iron Bull’s broad chest.

“Fuck!” She strode over to them, cursing in a polyglot of languages. Bull was impressed by the variety. She pulled off one of her gore smeared gloves and pressed her knuckles to Dorian’s cheek. He scowled at her, but she ignored it, pulling her hand back in surprise when the heat finally registered.

“Oh Dorian, I’m so sorry, I should have noticed.”

“More like he should have said something.” Bull filled in, harsh tone belied by his hand running gently down Dorian’s bowed back.

“Perhaps we should return to Caer Bronach?” Cassandra suggested practically. “It is still not as well equipped as I would like, but at the very least it should be dry.”

“Agreed, hopefully the storm will keep the bandits off the farmers while we all dry out.”

Dorian mumbled something that might have been a protest into Bull’s chest, which they all ignored.

“I don’t think he should ride on his own Boss. We should put him up with you, you’re the lightest. We can shift the extra gear to your mount.”

They trudged back to their meager camp, where they had left the mounts. The sodden Inquisition banner would keep most things at bay, and the dracolisks and bog unicorn did an amazing job of scaring off anything else. Turned out the weird ass dracolisks made serviceable watch dogs, and their clawed feet didn’t slip or stick on the constantly sodden terrain. Also, despite looking like a stiff breeze could knock them over, they were strong enough to carry The Iron Bull. The bog unicorn was just so fucking terrifying looking nothing messed with it, and whatever weird magic animated the thing kept it from foundering. The “unicorn” loved Dorian like a mabari loved its Dog Lord, apparently attracted by his necromancy.

They set Dorian down to rest on a rock, shivering despite his fire hot skin, and Bull made him drink down a potion. They were shit for treating sickness, but it might be enough to give Dorian a little energy for the trip. The Boss looked guilt stricken every time she looked at him, as if the mage’s illness were her fault. It didn’t stop her from quickly doing her share to break down the camp and start loading the mounts. She was damnably efficient, and he still wasn’t sure if that was Dalish training or years of having to get out of bad situations fast. Either way, she could break a camp down fast, which was what they needed.

They put the extra gear that the unicorn normally carried onto the skittish shoulder’s of the Inquisitor’s Mountain Dracolisk, an eerie, snow pale creature she called Pitch for her own amusement. No one else but Dennet could ride the irritable creature. She spoke to it exclusively in Elvhen, for reasons Bull couldn’t even begin to figure out, but it seemed to work. The creature stepped into place behind the bog unicorn and didn’t try to bite the shit out of it as it did with horses. Then again maybe the undead mount just tasted bad.

“Hmm… Dorian on first do you think? Keep the creature calm?” Bull asked. He had levered the ‘Vint up from his perch on the boulder and brought him over to the mounts. Dorian had given up all pretense of struggle, just miserably trying to do his best to keep moving. It gave Bull an unpleasant feeling in his chest to have Dorian pressed limp and listless against him. Dust looked at them consideringly.

“Yeah… put him in the saddle, I can scramble up behind. Decorus is good, he’ll follow the other mounts and he doesn’t spook, so I don’t have to have full strength control of the reins.”

They managed, between the three of them, to get Dorian in place in the saddle. Dust got up behind him with an enviable show of dexterity, wrapping her arms around Dorian and grabbing the reigns from his unresisting hands. Even though Dorian was quite a bit larger than her, she looked a bit like a mother cradling a child. Bull couldn’t help but smirk at the mental image, and how much Dorian would loathe it.

They were, inconveniently, about a half day’s ride from their newly acquired keep, at least with the need to go slow in the downpour. It was murky as the Void and by the time they approached Caer Bronach the rain had gone from a steady, annoying stream, to a fucking downpour. They might as well have been swimming in the old lake as far as Bull was concerned, only with a few less demons.

Horns sounded at their approach, the distinctive fanfare that marked the return of the Inquisitor, the same no matter which Inquisition stronghold they returned to. Their scouts were sharp eyed even in the rain, and the ghostly white shape of the Boss’s mount was easily recognized. Bull took out their own small horn and blew the response that indicated an injured party member. Bronach didn’t have a resident mage healer, but the physician stationed there was quite good with potions, and Bull hoped that would be enough.

* * *

“The locals call it Marsh Fever.” Physician Rist said, looking Dorian over seriously. “But it’s actually just another name for pneumonia.”

Dorian coughed and Bull winced. Out of the rain and noise of the field, it sounded like he was breathing through all the water in Crestwood. He was drifting, half asleep in the Inquisitor’s bed. Luckily, whatever else the building crews did at any newly acquired location, they first made it a point to furnish the Inquisitor with quarters at least partially befitting her station. It annoyed the hell out of Dust, who had spent years of her life sleeping in the wild, but no one was willing to gainsay the Ambassador on the subject. The Boss wasn’t the one who made sure the work crews got paid.

In this case it worked out well - the room had a reasonably sized bed made up with fine linens and a fireplace they could have actually roasted their erstwhile druffalo in. The stone floor had a threadbare but clean carpet, as well as clean rushes to keep the chill off. He was sure Dorian would be horrified by the idea of hay on the floor like a stable, but he’d just chalk it up to Ferelden barberism. There were also threadbare hangings on the wall, most of them featuring dogs, with two fresh Inquisition banners to give the room the appropriate level of pomp.

Cassandra had let the two of them get Dorian out of the saddle and up to the Inquisitor’s quarters, seeing to the handling of their mounts, even Pitch too intimidated by the Seeker to misbehave in his favored rider’s absence. Bull and Dust had gotten Dorian stripped and into bed, a plain old warming pan carefully placed at his feet. Dorian was barely conscious, starting to mutter nonsense in Tevene. Bull and Dust were still dripping on the carpet, bags thrown haphazardly in the corner.

“The important question is, what can you do for him?” Dust was trying to wrestle her wet coat off, unaware of the effect a shapely, squirming elf wrapped in wet leather was having on the otherwise calm and collected physician. It would have been hilarious if Dorian wasn’t coughing wetly on the bed while the idiot stared at the Boss’s hips. Bull walked up behind her and gave a good strong tug, pulling the tight leather right off her muscular arms.

“Thanks!” She gasped, scrambling to unbuckle and pull her gorget off, taking some of the long white strands of her hair with it. She let out what he was sure was a blistering stream of filthy swearing in Antivan, and then scowled at the hapless physician whose eyes had traveled down to her chest. Rist quickly went from hypnotized to terrified when she grabbed him by the collar, pulling him down until he was looking straight into her eerily pale eyes. “Stop staring at my fucking tits and tell me what you can do for my friend before I gut you like a fish.”

“I… I…” The man gasped, obviously shocked right out of coherence to see the normally calm and rational Lavellan turn right back into an Antivan street killer before his eyes, accent gone thick and heavy with the sounds of the Antiva City alienage. Her teeth were bared in a snarl that would have made a Ventatori gladiator nervous, let alone a mild mannered healer.

“Not helping, Boss.” Bull said quietly, placing a hand on her shoulder. She didn’t let go of Rist, but she did turn her snarl on Bull instead. He looked at her calmly and after a charged moment she shoved the human away, refusing to look at him, burying her hands in her wet, mangled braids.

“Bull, I didn’t even notice. I was so busy being pissed at the weather and the bandits I didn’t notice him getting sick at all.” She sounded miserable, which said something about how tired she was - she normally kept her darker feelings much better hidden.

“Hey, I _did_ notice, but even I didn’t realize how bad it was, and we share a tent. Dorian’s should have told us he felt like crap, and I’m going to give him so much shit about it when he’s better.”

“Um…” They both looked at the apothecary, who was blushing a truly alarming shade of crimson, but seemed determined to do his job, dampening a clean cloth from one of the bottles he had brought with him and setting it down gently on Dorian’s forehead. Bull could smell lavender and chamomile. He wasn’t sure what good it would do, but the scent seemed to sooth Dorian, or maybe just the wetness against his hot, dry skin. “The illness can worsen very quickly. He may not have been able to distinguish from the usual colds associated with the abysmal weather here.”

“Huh… so you mean he wasn’t just grandstanding?” Bull asked, skeptical but relieved at the same time.

“I’m afraid there’s no way to know until he’s a bit more coherent.” Rist said with a shrug, his blush beginning to recede. “As for treatment, I have several medicines, that in conjunction should be helpful. Luckily this is a fairly common ailment. He’ll need rest, and to be kept warm and dry. He’s very likely to develop chills, keeping him warm will be important to prevent him from exhausting himself with shivering. I will give him tincture of embrium and vandal aria to draw the liquid from his lungs. It may cause vomiting, but it’s necessary. Additionally we will need to keep him well hydrated, which may be a bit difficult if he remains unconscious. He’s quite healthy but it would be best for someone to sit with him when I cannot.”

“Not a problem. You get whatever you think he’ll need Master Rist, I’ll stay and keep an eye on him. Maybe we can get some tea going in that small room someone turned into a fireplace.”

The physician smiled tentatively, sliding a glance at the Inquisitor, who was standing with her arms crossed over her chest, biting her lip as she watched Dorian begin to fidget in his sleep.

“Boss, why don’t you see if you can dig up some dry clothes, and maybe see if someone can send up a drying rack for all the wet crap in our packs. I’ll stay with Dorian, no sense you getting sick too.”

“Unlike Dorian, I am not a hot house orchid disguised as a mage.” She replied, looking affronted. Bull chuckled. “Besides, you’re wet too Bull.”

“Yeah, but I’m just gonna get naked and crawl into bed with him to keep him warm. You know they’re going to want you for official shit soon.”

Rist choked a bit at Bull’s mention of crawling into bed with Dorian, but Dust just rolled her eyes.

“Fine. I’ll be back when they free me from being Inquisitorial.” She eyed Rist, who was trying to shrink his tall frame to the smallest possible target. Smart man. “Come on Master Rist, I promise not to use anything sharp or pointy on you since I need you to take care of my friend.”

“That… would be appreciated Inquisitor.” Bull shook his head as the two left together, and began stripping off to take up his role as living heat source.

* * *

The Boss was gone for a good two hours. By the time she returned the physician had poured a variety of potions down Dorian’s throat, causing him to flick back to consciousness long enough to sputter and swear angrily in Tevene before drifting back into fitful sleep. Efficient staff had brought up a large, well cushioned chair, a small table, and whisked away the bags full of wet clothing he and the Inquisitor had left lying in the corner. The large, middle aged human who brought dinner up took one look at Bull, set the tray of food down, and told him she’d be back with more. Bull loved her a little.

Dorian was curled up against Bull’s side, shivering and clinging like rash vine when Dust walked back in. Bull blinked his single eye at her before bursting into laughter.

“Kolslun’s balls, what are you wearing Boss?”

“Circle robes, of all the damn things. They’re actually fairly comfortable. I mean, it’s basically a dress, but at least it’s warm and dry. None of the scouts my size had enough dry clothing to spare, I didn’t want to leave any of them stuck in wet gear. The mage here had some spares. And also some disturbing news.”

Dust shuffled into the room, obviously not terribly comfortable in her borrowed robe. It was a deep blue brocade with fur trim and the normal circle belt around her hips. She had taken her hair out of it’s wet braids, letting it hang down and dry in a long fall of white waves. She picked up the bowl of soup, probably quite cold, and gulped down a few spoonfuls before speaking again.

“Anyway,” she said, beginning to tear apart the small loaf of brown bread that had come with the soup. “The mage, her name’s Estrelis, she says we might want to station one of the Templars outside. There’s a couple here she says aren’t ass holes. Apparently mages who get sick are more prone to possession.”

Bull had never fucked a mage before Dorian. He had some personal rules about what he’d stick his dick in - mages were right the Void out. But then again mages didn’t normally come with a snippy, sarcastic mouth that not only made him laugh but seemed tailor made for sucking his cock, and a body that would have made a sculptor weep in appreciation. So Bull fucked a mage, and slept beside him, shared a tent, and would care for him when he was sick.

That did _not_ make the possibility of demon possession even a little bit okay. He could feel a chill run down his spine as he looked down at Dorian, who was mewling pitifully in his sleep, shivering and trying to close the tiny distance that Bull’s movement had left between their bodies. A qunari with goosebumps was ridiculous, but there they were spread across his skin like a field of tiny land mines. He was so busy trying to get his thoughts to slow down and get in line he didn’t notice Dust come over and perch on the bed.

“Bull, it’s ok. I mean this is Dorian - he’d never become an abomination, he’s far too pretty to let a demon wear his body like a shirt.” Dust smiled at him, but it stopped just short of her pale eyes, which were too concerned to be entirely convincing. She reached out with her left hand and gently touched Dorian’s bare shoulder. The Mark crackled like lightning, sparking for a moment and then going quiescent. Dorian became a bit less restless, and the Boss bit her lip. Shit, that couldn’t be good.

“Why do I get the feeling that’s not a good sign?” He tried to keep the tension out of his voice, but from the glance Dust gave him he probably hadn’t succeeded.

“Well… I mean I don’t know if it’s good, but I don’t know that it’s bad either. The Mark seems to affect dreams. I noticed it when I woke Cullen up from a nightmare a couple weeks ago.” Bull opened his mouth, feeling a smile tug at his lips despite the seriousness of the situation. “Do not start with me Bull. It wasn’t like that and you know it.”

“Uh huh.” He responded unhelpfully. Her face ran through a variety of emotions, including amusement, annoyance, and finally mild exasperation.

“As I was saying, the Mark’s connection with the Fade seems to affect dreams. I think it scares off demons, but I’m not telling Solas about this so I can’t be sure.”

“What, you don’t want to be lectured about how useless the Dalish are for hours while he faps over the Fade?”

“Oh sweet Creators, please never again put that mental image in my head Bull, I’m going to lose my stew.” She continued to stroke her left hand over Dorian’s shivering flesh, the green light of the Mark only a bit more agitated than normal as it moved beneath her skin like a pool of water disturbed by a breeze. “Anyway, I’ll stay with you two as much as I can. I’ve got a raven to Skyhold asking them to send me Varric and Vivienne. Hopefully he’ll be well by the time they arrive, but better safe than sorry.”

* * *

Dorian wasn’t better by the time Varric and Vivienne arrived, the storm having finally cleared out on the third day, probably terrified of what Viv would do to it if her silk over robe was damaged. By the time they made it to Caer Bronach, Dorian’s flesh was growing tight on his bones, Rist was making concerned faces, and Dust and Bull were both starting to hit the slightly hysterical edge of sleep deprivation. They kept a very intimidated Templar name Yereth posted outside of the Inquisitor’s bedroom who would probably be no good to Dorian since he was terrified of Bull.

In between official Inquisition duties, fighting bandits with Cassandra and some of the better trained scouts stationed at Bronach, as well as helping every local with so much as a stubbed toe, Dust would sit on the edge of the bed with Dorian. She held his hand in hers, his fingers already looking alarmingly clawlike, stroked his hair, or just kept her Marked hand firmly pressed against his super heated skin.

Bull stayed with Dorian at all times, catching bits of sleep when the Boss was in, grabbing food where he could. They changed the linens frequently to keep the bed from getting clammy, no doubt pissing off some poor servants. They were at the point of coaxing sugar water down Dorian’s throat, tea and milk having been utterly and dramatically rejected. Even the sweetened water made him whimper, throat raw from coughing. The fever was hot and simply got hotter, until even Bull was uncomfortable pressed directly against Dorian, though that didn’t stop him. He didn’t sleep when they were alone though. He was… well… there were… he had _feelings_ for Dorian. He had feelings he wasn’t sure he was ready to examine, but none of that meant he was okay for being asleep if Dorian woke up spitting lava. (Even if that did sound kind of badass.)

If Rist had been intimidated by the Inquisitor, Vivienne made him look like he was going to faint _and_ shit himself at the same time, especially because her tits were a special kind of magnificent and also right on display. He stammered his way through the answers to her pointed questions about Dorian’s treatment, coherent if ineloquent. When he had answered all of her questions she looked at him as if her were a slug, and then dismissed him with a lift of the perfect line of her jaw. Bull shook his head. _Taarsidath-an halsaam_ for sure with that guy.

Vivienne eyed Bull and Dust critically as they stood, rumpled and obviously sleep deprived before her. Bull remembered to stand up straight and lift his chin when her eyes narrowed at him, making her lips edge into the tiniest of smiles.

“You two look dreadfully tired and unkempt darlings. Do go clean yourselves up and get some food, I’ll not have you both dropping from exhaustion from nursing Dorian.”

They both tried to protest at the same time, and both of Vivienne’s eyebrows went up. She wasn’t even wearing one of her hats and Bull was being reminded forcibly of a time he swiped an extra loaf of bread as an imekari, and his ass was feeling phantom pains from the spanking he’d gotten for sassing Tama about it.

“Darlings,” The sweetness of her tone was a warning, rather like the pretty colors on the snakes in Seheron. “I need to concentrate and your fretful hovering will be distracting.”

Dust fidgeted and Bull found his feet reluctant to move as Dorian gave a small, hoarse moan. Vivienne sighed.

“Fine, you may stay, both of you, but be very quiet, and stay _still_.”

Vivienne perched with her normal grace on the stool beside the bed, the skirts of her robes settling perfectly around her like the petals of a flower. Bull picked up the large arm chair that had been brought into the room, moving it to the far corner away from Dorian’s bed. He gestured for Dust to take it but she shook her head, grabbing a throw pillow from the chair and pushing him into it instead. She plopped the pillow on the floor at his feet and settled down, using his good leg for a pillow. He gave a tiny chuckle, patted her head like a cat, and then sat back to watch Vivienne literally work her magic.

* * *

It wasn't that Dorian was a bad patient - it’s that he was an utterly fucking _terrible_ patient who refused to stay in bed, got cranky when they insisted he take his potions, and who snuck out of the Inquisitor’s room wearing the entirely too tight Circle robes that Dust had abandoned as soon as her clothing dried out. Bull just smiled when he threw the wiggling mage over his shoulder, mindful of his horns, slapping down firmly on that beautifully rounded ass when Dorian complained. Bull was damn glad to have his cranky, complaining mage back.

The robe was never returned to it’s rightful owner, but she did receive a very fine replacement, as well as a fruit basket in thanks for the loan.


End file.
